


A Touch of Fate

by Triodia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:50:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triodia/pseuds/Triodia
Summary: How crazy is it to know you have a soulmate out there, somewhere in the world. It's incredible, isn't it, to think that a single touch - the brush of a hand, the press of a knee - could change your entire world, could introduce you to a match for your soul.





	1. Caitlin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Lecygne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecygne/pseuds/lecygne) and [Jamesiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/pseuds/jamesiee) for the beta assistance, any mistakes are for sure my own.

_ Soulmate (n): A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. _

 

_ “It should be noted that while all initial soulmate connections are determined by skin to skin exposure, these connections can occur in a variety of methods. Connections can be simplistically classified as follows: Symbols, Cognitive/Psychic, or Physical Contact. These connection categories are commonly referred to in popular culture as “MMM” or “Mark,” “Mind,” and “Meet” respectively.  _

_ The most prevalent of the classifications are Symbol types. They are denoted by black symbols found on the skin and can include first words, names, compasses, images, corresponding geometric designs, or the ability to write and respond. These “marks” fill in with color after soulmates have touched. Cognitive/Psychic and Physical Contact are far less common than Symbol types. Cognitive/Psychic type connections can include dream, emotion, and thought sharing. For Cognitive/Psychic connections, soulmates notice an increase of control in terms of what they can share across the psychic link and when soulmates are nearby post initial touch, their eyes will begin to glow. Physical Contact types display themselves in gaining access to the full visible light spectrum where the colors radiate outwards from your soulmate, or colored handprints appearing on your skin where your soulmate first touches you. Those handprints will emit warmth whenever your soulmate is close. Of all three types, Cognitive/Psychic tends to cause the most difficulty when attempting to determine who your soulmate is due to the lack of physical identifiers available; however, determining Physical Contact soulmates can also be challenging, especially when in popular locations such as monuments, theatres, clubs, and public transportation. It’s possible to find your soulmate and not know who they are due to crowds. To mitigate these challenges, more traditional soulmates often wear gloves and cover as much skin as possible, so that any interactions skin to skin are intentional. _

_ Of all soulmate connections, Symbol types have the only two that are fully reciprocal: write and respond or corresponding geometric designs. These “marks” match across each partnership. If one soulmate has a design, the other(s) will as well.” _

Excerpt from  _ An Introductory Guide to Soulmate Connections _ by Laurena Alma

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Caitlin’s Mark came in slowly between her freshman and sophomore years of high school. It developed from an ugly black blob into lines that eventually formed the San Jose Sharks logo. In the two years it took to come in, Caitlin never gave much thought to her soulmate, not because she didn’t want one or she thought it was bogus. She just figured that if they are supposed to be a perfect match for her, they’ll have to cross paths sooner or later, so why worry about the inevitable. Yeah, it may take a while, but there’s nothing she wants out of life that she can’t do alone or with friends and family supporting her. She doesn’t need to put her life plans on hold until she finds her match. Soulmate aside, Caitlin is perfectly capable and perfectly whole.

She goes about her life holding onto that certainty. Cait goes to school, takes AP classes, plays volleyball for the JV and Varsity teams, joins the JV soccer team after sophomore year to keep herself in shape. It’s only when she starts applying for college that she begins to wonder. Maybe this is her chance, maybe she should’ve, should be doing something. There’s an outline of the San Jose Sharks logo on her wrist, she  _ lives in San Jose _ , but she’s never gone to a game. Suddenly, Cait desperately wants to know who they are, how did they fall so deeply into hockey that the Sharks logo is the image marked on her skin. Cait knows she’s still awesome and whole and powerful and capable without her soulmate, but she really, really doesn’t want to miss out on the perfect opportunity she has  _ right now _ to potentially find them.

Cait starts going to Sharks games. Volleyball season is over, but between homework and AP classes and the soccer season that’s just begun, she only makes it to about two a month through the rest of the Sharks’ regular 2012-2013 season. The more games she goes to, the more she falls in love with hockey. She’s hasn’t crossed paths with her soulmate, but she begins to love the idea of them a little more with each game she attends. So, she keeps hoping and keeps going, moving sections each time - from the upper level nosebleed seats down to the club areas, then to the lower balconies, and finally to the loge. By the time playoffs start, Cait has become a bonafide, sign carrying, jersey wearing, ref shouting, Bettman booing hockey fan.

By the time playoffs start, Cait has been accepted to Samwell University on an athletic scholarship for volleyball. She says yes. It’s the best choice for her, but the what ifs keep playing through her head.  _ ‘What if I messed up? What if me leaving means we never meet? What if…’  _ She cries herself to sleep that night. It isn’t logical, she hasn’t been saving herself for them or anything, hasn’t been keeping with outdated ideas of purity. She understands that meeting her soulmate at 18 might not be for the best, that the timing might not be right, that they both are still growing, learning, and changing. But still...

 

Her graduation present from her parents are tickets to the Sharks home games for the Western Conference Semifinals against the Kings. She holds the printed tickets in her hands and thinks, _ ‘Ok Caitlin, this is it. Either you find them or you don’t. After this, you stop obsessing and just freaking live your life. You’ll find them eventually. You will find them.’ _

 

**May 18, 2013 - Game 3, SJS 2-1 OT**

Cait sits in the nosebleeds. She makes excellent friends with the family of four sitting next to her, especially the two little girls with Sharkie plushies and signs declaring their love for defenseman Brent Burns. She doesn’t find her soulmate.

 

**May 21, 2013 - Game 4, SJS 2-1**

Cait sits in the club zones. She ends up enfolded into a large, rowdy group of college students from San Jose State who buy her beer and chant “BULLLLL SHIIITTT” during every call against San Jose. She doesn’t find her soulmate.

 

**May 26, 2013 - Game 6, SJS 2-1**

Cait goes to graduation and leaves immediately afterwards to sit 6 rows back from the glass behind goal on the home side.  She doesn’t find her soulmate.

 

Cait is exiting the SAP Center, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail, when her jersey sleeve slips down to reveal the Sharks logo on her wrist. It takes her a second to notice that the logo is no longer a simple black outline, but rather, flooded with color. ‘ _ I touched them. They were here. I missed them. Oh god - I missed them. I missed them. Shit!’  _ She whirls around, ready to charge back into the arena...but the doors are closed, and...and she’s looking for a needle in a haystack, one person out of 17,000 and she doesn’t even know which one. 

 

She spends the next 24 hours mentally retracing her steps. ‘ _ It’d had to be after the beginning of the 2nd period. When I went to the bathroom during the 1st intermission it was still just an outline. Ok Cait, think.  _ **_Think_ ** _. Who did you touch? The lady to my left for sure because we both jerked our hands back immediately. The guy on my right, but I don’t think the universe would pair me with a 60 year old… So, what about the 2nd intermission and when everyone was leaving? I probably touched at least two of the store employees handing over merchandise. There was the girl who handed me my ice cream cone....Oh! The cute guy who caught me when I was shoved! I definitely touched him.’  _ She’s narrowed it down to a few potential suspects, but it will take a miracle to find them all again.

  
  


Two days later, the Sharks lose in Game 7. Cait tries not to think of it as an omen. She does anyway.


	2. Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Jamesiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesiee/pseuds/jamesiee) for the beta assistance, any mistakes are for sure my own.

Chris has daydreamed about finding his soulmate since he was six and all he wanted was someone to curl up next to during naptime. That daydream evolved as time passed; he wanted someone to share his thoughts with, his insecurities, his fanciful imaginings. He wanted what his parents had. A relationship built on casually loving touches, unrestrained laughter, passionate self expression (even when angry), unceasing support, and empathy.

 As soon as Chris turns fourteen, he starts trying to determine his classification. He buys a full length mirror with his allowance and searches for Marks every night before bed. He scrawls an introduction across his arm Monday morning of each week, always some variation of, “Hi! I’m Chris! I’m really excited to meet you someday!!!” He keeps a journal that’s only ever used for hockey plays because any dreams he has slip from his mind before he can capture them on paper, his own thought process is erratic enough he can’t determine if the ideas bouncing there are his or not, and the only voice he ever hears is his own.

Every year that passes without a sign chips away at his happiness, creates another small fault line in his heart. Chris is sixteen by the time he figures out he’s probably a Meet. In two-ish years, his skin has remained unblemished, there have been no weird voices in his head, no dreams he can remember, and he’s always been able to see color, which leaves him with nothing. Well, not nothing, by process of elimination, he’s a deduced that he must be a Physical Contact connection, and therefore, the only option left is handprints. Handprints that are missing. That may be missing for a while.

 _“Physical Contact types display themselves in gaining access to the full visible light spectrum_ _where the colors radiate outwards from your soulmate, or colored handprints appearing on your skin where your soulmate first touches you. Those handprints will emit warmth whenever your soulmate is close” (Alma, 5)._

 

Chris knows Marks aren’t any better or worse than Minds or Meets, but he can’t help wanting tangible proof of a partner. (Some days, Chris think about getting a tattoo just so he can believe in something, even if it’s fake. Chris has a lot of bad days that year.) He picks himself up and keeps going. Chris doesn’t have any clues, no hints to help him start searching. He’s not bitter about it. _He’s not._ He’s just disappointed. He just wishes… Chris carefully shuts down that thought. (They’ll be there, he knows they’ll be there. They’ll meet at the perfect time. The falling will be easy, the love will require work - just like his mom says.) Chris doesn’t give up on searching, instead, he bares skin. He lives in shorts and tee shirts, sometimes tank tops, and flip flops. He never shies away from touching. He puts himself, his body, out there and hopes he’ll get lucky. (He doesn’t.)

He channels every ounce of frustration, of hopeless longing into hockey. It’s like therapy, but cheaper (kind of) and hockey’s been there through everything. Chris has been playing since he was four, been skating basically from birth. He goes to Sharks games with family, then with friends or solo when he’s old enough. (He asks for tickets each holiday and birthday). Chris loves the ice, loves hockey, loves the curl of satisfaction at getting a shutout. He’s a good goalie. Very good. Good enough that the lead up into his senior year of high school is filled with campus tours and recruitment speeches and polite roundabout discussions on whether or not he’s likely to enter the NHL Draft. (He won’t. Chris wants a degree. He wants a backup plan because nothing is forever, not even this). From October to January, Chris applies to universities all over the nation and then waits. He plays more hockey, gets more shutouts, is invited to the USNTDP in March, freaks out when the lockout ends and NHL shortened season begins, starts watching Sharks games from his spot 5 rows from the ice behind Antti Niemi.

 

When Chris returns from the USNTDP, there are a stack of letters waiting for him. Michigan, Minnesota, Boston University, Denver, Notre Dame, North Dakota, Harvard, Wisconsin, Boston College. He leaves them opened on his desk. The letter he’s waiting for hasn’t appeared yet. The Sharks clinch a playoff spot; the letter arrives. On May 1, 2013, the Sharks win their first game of Quarter Finals against the Canucks in Vancouver and Chris accepts his offer to Samwell University with a full ride athletic scholarship. He chooses Samwell for his parents, for the academic programs, for hockey, for him. (After his decision is made, he feels more settled. Maybe he’ll find his soulmate there. Maybe.)

Chris trudges through the last few weeks of school. watches playoff hockey, watches the Sharks beat the Canucks in 4, sees the SAP Center explode from his spot behind goal. The Sharks are through to the Semifinals. (Chris is another week closer to distance, to Samwell). He goes to graduation and the after parties, but keeps anxiously checking his phone for updates on Game 3 versus the Kings. (The Sharks win in overtime. They won’t lose in four.)

**May 21, 2013 - Game 4, SJS 2-1**

There’s a chance. They can do this, just two more wins.

**May 26, 2013 - Game 6, SJS 2-1**

The series is going to seven, but they can still do this. Chris shakes his head, _‘Fuck the Kings. Goddamnit.’_ He stretches and stands. Chris sees her as he starts shuffling towards the aisles. _‘She’s gorgeous. And apparently got a front seat to my crazy by sitting in the row directly behind me...’_ He merges with the flood of people in the aisle a half second before her, just in time to brace himself. She’s somewhat distracted entering the aisle, digging through her purse for something, and doesn’t see the man swimming against the stream until he runs right into her. She twists with the impact, eyes wide, hands flying from her purse to rest on Chris’s chest and the back of his neck. He uses the grip on her hips from where he caught her and gently tugs her aside as the man keeps barrelling on, muttering out a hasty sorry. She lets out a huff and pats his chest as her mouth twists into a wry grin, “Thanks for the assist.” Chris just nods and releases her hips squeaking out a soft, “Anytime.” He loses her in the push and pull of the crowds swarming the exits.

 

 

Chris doesn’t notice the teal handprint across the nape of his neck until three days later when his mom laughs, “C’mere, you’ve got a smudge of ink across- Oh, Chris. Honey, you- you have a handprint across the back of your neck.” Chris _sprints_ to the bathroom and takes a shaky picture with his phone. He stares at the photo until his vision starts to blur and his hands are trembling enough he can no longer make out details in the image. _‘It was the girl. That one that I- She lives here. I’m going across the country for the next four years and she lives here. In San Jose. She goes to Sharks games. The Sharks got knocked out yesterday. Hockey’s over, I can’t even find her at a game,’_ his mind won’t stop panicking, won’t stop playing the same sentences on repeat. Bile rises in his throat, _‘I’m sorry. I’m not going to be able to find you until after college. You might not even live here then. God, I’m so sorry.’_

  
Chris crawls into bed and lays there dry eyed, clutching Sharkie to his chest. Infinite lives play out before him, in each one they miss one another by mere inches on parallel paths that never quite intersect. They slip through the other’s fingers (like sand, water, _time_ ). Chris wonders why he feels like he’s lost something, when he never had them to begin with.


End file.
